殺される得るよい方法 Good way to get killed
by RememberStars
Summary: The story of George Freeman in Japan  Crossovers, I do not own them.  If I did, I would be rich.  Anyhow, there are multiple of them  The two main ones are Kashimashi and Love Hina  Negima. Please R&R. Currently in work.
1. Chapter 1

The Blessed Noise King looked around. So few of his allies remained, and those who did seemed worse for the wear. He looked at the sweat from the ministers who ran in, telling him of the empire's collapse. Only so recent had it seemed that the wall separating east and west had fell, marking an age of peace. Or so the world had hoped. America's and Russia's power had waned, leaving two new sides to begin to attempt to dominate the world stage. The Welsh and the Molmolians had built their armies, and stood at a crossroad. Would peace occur, or would the world be in fear once more? This was the question he wanted to face, but fate was not kind onto him, and demanded more. This from inside his own ranks, a friend of his son, one to be known as the Dissenter forever, had dared challenge his rule. Supplying the terrorists, and revolutionists with weapons, he hoped to drive a stake through the heart of the Empire, making it his for the taking. The Minister coughed, driving the king from such thoughts.

"Mi Lord. Your son Luke is ready to take the reins of the military and fight. George is still nowhere to be found." The King sighed at this news, and waved the minister to depart. He knew his time was getting shorter, and wanted to leave stability, and not have his kingdom follow the path of the Inca's. However, only keen perseverance would do so. He heard the booms of the guns, and knew that the battle had begun.

To describe the event is impossible. For one must be there to see it by their own eyes. A blood bath, brother fighting brother, a hell on Earth, from which the soldiers could not escape even if many tried. Each time a soldier, neigh, a human being died, another took their place to be the slaughtered lamb. Yet after days of fighting Luke finally secured victory. He took his place among the great commanders of history, topping Napoleons victory at the Olive Trees of Italy, or the Sands of Egypt, and matching Alexander's march through Persia. A military master stroke, but at the lives lost, worthless. Terrible news also struck home. George had disappeared and his Father dead, his heart failed him, meaning that he stood at the top of a bloody hill.  
However I digress, as our story is not of Luke, but his brother George. Friend of the dissenter, He came in at the age of 16, a sprite young lad, with years ahead of him. If only he could survive them.

The story does not begin from his flee, instead it starts in simple Japan, a place pledged to Molmolian support, and the buffer between expansionist China and the military superpower of Molmol. Fear was strife here, and George's arrival did not do much to ease it.  
Sweat dripped down the strangers face, like coffee into a pot. His body soaked, his clothes saturated, he looked as if he had just come from the sea. And considering that he was on a dock, it would be likely. He was an imposing man, someone to not be trifled with. He leaned on a staff, yet his gait made it seem that he did not need it. He was young, not yet 20, yet his eyes showed that he had seen things that no human should. It was as if his soul was in pain. As he walked, he stroked his deep red hair, and scratched the fuzz on his face. However the thing of interest was not the clothes, the stick, his walk, the eyes, or even the youth. It was what walked beside him. On one side a beautiful women, who turned more heads then he did, tall, thin, and intimidating. Beautiful black hair flowed to her shoulders, and her penetrating eyes, blue as the sky and as deep as the sea, were nervously twitching around. She appeared the opposite of the man, while he was scraggly and in a bad condition, she was well groomed, and free from the water.  
On his other side, was the most interesting. There walked a dog, not any dog though. Teeth of a wolf, and paws of one too. It was clearly built for hunting and killing. A silky black mane covered its body. However, intelligence lay in those eyes. As the man spoke, he looked up or at something, as if understanding. Absurd, the people thought. However as the strangers came deeper and deeper inland, the less they stood out. Soon, they disappeared from the minds and memories of those who saw them, except one. He remembered them clearly, and could till his dying day tell them of their state, his mind capturing and saving the picture of three strangers, two humans and one dog, walking along a path to the city of Tokyo. They never made it.  
Once again, however I jump too far ahead. Let me tell of the three strangers and their walk. The women wore a face of discontent, the man, oblivious, was talking loudly. The dog just stared ahead.

"Aw…. Cheer up Dasha. Witch or not, you still accompanied me." The women, Dasha, just grew a deeper scowl.

"George, you know nothing of the situation. You and your history, you'd be caught and killed if recognized." She said. Yes the man was George, and he managed to live for those long years.

"Ya'll just worry too much." George said, scratching the dog's ear. "You also David. Ya'll don't worry about everything. It'll be fine. Relax, never knew Russians were so uptight." He said with a laugh. Dasha turned and quickened her pace; David looked up guiltily at George. "I love you also." George said with a smiled. "You just don't have to worry constantly." Here the road stopped. And in front of them stood a mountain, at which Dasha's face brightened.  
"Now here is a place to rest for the night." She said with a smile. George looked at the sign of which started a path. Kashima Mountain He muttered. "Lovely." The three of them climbed the path, looking for a tree to sleep under. It took them only a minute but they found a lovely oak under which the shade stretched for miles, or so it would seem to a traveler in a hot day, or could build a hundred houses if you needed the wood. George looked up to the tree with glee. "I call top branch." He said climbing up with speed. Dasha was in the middle, with David lying on the ground. George smiled as he fell into a deep slumber.

The middle of the night, darkness surrounded them. The air was cold, very cold. George felt it odd that the air was so cold. It must have been the middle of summer. Yet, that was not why he awoke. He awoke because he felt scared, terrified. Someone else was here. He could sense it. Before he could react, there was a slight sting on his arm. Looking he only saw a little bug flying before he collapsed, fainting.  
Now it was most odd of him to wake up and see two men stand over him. Neither he recognized, but both of them seemed to know who he is, or at least was.  
"Monsieur Nicola?" The man on the left asked.  
"Yes..." George said, putting on his British accent.  
"We know of your many dealings with the... underworld. Look time is short, so I am going to be blunt. We will stop this information from being released, but only if you take a... job from us." He said. George sighed.  
"Do I have any choice?"  
"No." The other man spoke for the first time. His raspy voice and grating voice reminded George of a school teacher from long ago. He checked to see if the man had some chalk in his hand, just as an old habit. Of course the man lacked that feature.  
George then smiled. "Okay give me the job..." He said, wanting to be released to think about the situation.  
"You are required to kidnap this young lady." The man pulled out a picture, which George didn't look at, just put it in his pocket.  
"For what reason? Ransom? Sex Trade? A fetish of yours?" George asked.  
"The reason was not given to me; I am merely the go between." The man said. "Now it is time for you to sleep again, Mr. Freeman." George barely had time to register surprise when a cloth was forced over his mouth, once again forcing him to sleep.  
George awoke at Day light, finding that he was back at the tree. Yet an IV had been forced into his arm. That much was clear. Meaning that the sting he felt was of the needle...  
"Of course..." George shouted, waking Dasha and David. He ignored their glances and continued to think. He felt his pocket, and found the picture. Looking at it, he smiled. This would be an easy task. That much he knew.

~Ten Nights Later~

George smiled. Target had been found. Dasha and David had been quite angry at him. In fact the two left him. Once more he was on his own. Which was fine. He was against this job also, but hey, food is food. He needed the pay. The silence was odd. He had been instructed to take the girl alive. He was used to this sort of job. Someone had to do it, and well, he was desperate enough to do it. Staring through his telescope, he stared at the girl. She seemed very delicate, very pretty for that age. He reflected what Dasha had told him. _So this is what it comes to! You taking Jobs from Gangsters? Remember the days when you would do no such thing! The days when you were king of Russia? Fighting the Mafia?_  
George had snapped back at her, the words were too painful to actually remember. A tear fell down his face, he now remembered the days. The noble knight, they had called him in Russia. Those were the good days. Yet... he also remembered the starving, the pain he suffered. Also the days when he was forced into China, North Korea, Vietnam, those bodies who lay there, never to be disturbed. Yes, the Cold War had ended for the first world, but you could see the scars they had left on the poor. The countries still stole from them, using their money on guns not butter. George knew that to stave off hunger for one more day would allow time for the noble causes he worked for. He sighed. That was life; he had no reason to expect it to treat him better for his noble goals. Sighing he took the girl into his sights. The telescope, attached to a tranquillizer gun, had the girl in his sights. A gun shot is heard for miles around...

**1 year later **

George grinned as he struts once more into the office of his employers. "Here's what you asked for." George plopped down a file on the table, detailing everything his employers needed to know.

"Ah Monsieur, Very good. You should have done this a long time ago." His employer said. The man stood with a regal appearance, donning a flowing robe. George grinned even larger. "Anyway..." He started to speak. "You know that they tried to bribe me when I took the items. Twice as much as you paid me." He began. "Of course, they should know that in a business where loyalty is bought and sold, that you always finish the job." George finished speaking taking out a pen, flipping it in his hand. "Anyhow, where's the money?" The man placed a box next to the file George brought him. "Ah good..." He dropped the pen, taking the box, counting the money. "Very good." He checked the authenticity of the money, nodding.

"Well, our business is complete I assume?" He commented. The man just nodded, greedily reading through the file. George walked out of the building, grinning like an idiot. The man picked up George's pen that had been dropped. He clicked it open, and saw something appear on the side of it. He looked closely. Words had formed on the pen: _Have a nice day..._ The man barely had time to curse out the day he heard of George's name when the pen exploded. Thirteen people were killed, and forty wounded. No one would suspect anything, and those who did, well they had been working with a known mercenary group, so it paid to keep silent for the feds.

George had managed to escape with no injuries. He smirked, going to his other employers business. "Well, Monsieur, a toast!" exclaimed a man in a mask. "To the success of your mission!" He moved his hand up. "Well, here is your money, Two million yen, just like we promised." George again counted the money then checked its authenticity. "You also have to pay for the pen bomb... 200 yen." George said. The man grimaced then tossed him an extra 300 yen. "Happy?" He asked. George nodded. "Well now, we never met, you don't know me, etc. etc. And you know where to find me." George again stalked out of a building. He made plans to meet his partners and tell them the news. But first, he needed something to drink. Probably alcohol. Never mind the fact he was underage. He had a fake id for years now, and no one could tell the difference. Of course it didn't hurt that he had grown a scruffy beard streaked in white that made him seem to be over 25, despite the fact he was only 19. George stopped by a cafe. There he sat down, and closed his eyes. His mind wandered to the past. And the one question he couldn't answer. Why did Dasha and David leave? Why?

George sighed. The answer would elude him for his life. That much he felt certain of. Unless if he found them. Which he doubted. He taught them well. With a rueful little smile, he got up. Dusting himself off, he paid for the drunk. As he took a step, the urge to take a look in the mirror was great. He hadn't for a while now, almost as if he didn't, he wouldn't change. He felt that he could pretend that he still was the same person from a year ago. That life would be the same as before if he ever returned. Lies, he knew, damned lies in fact. However he still needed to believe. It was his lifeline to sanity. Thus he didn't look into the mirror. For his sake.

George was deep in this thought of keeping his sanity when he walked out. It wasn't as if he needed to be conscious of the direction he was going, he knew where it was by heart. No, he needed to pay more attention to the surroundings. By that the cars that zoomed by. George walked on the sidewalk; however that didn't stop a van from almost killing him. At the last second the Driver swerved, and George who finally noticed dived out of the way, luckily in opposite directions. The car crashed into a pole. George ran over to help the driver get out. However, George was shocked that the driver got out on his own power, and not only that, he only was bleeding slightly from the forehead. George just stared. "What the..." he didn't finish the sentence. This was huge, major in fact. The guy should at least have one or two broken body parts. Add in crushed lungs, and an ambulance surrounding him to take the driver away after this, then this would be the normal scene for such an accident.. George just let his mouth hang as the man extended his hand.  
"You okay?" The driver asked. George, not trusting his words just nodded. "Good, now I should go, I'm very late." He got back into the car and drove off at the crazy speed like before. George just shook his head, sure he was hallucinating. He really needed to get more sleep. George sighed as he took out a lighter and packet of smokes. He lit one, puffing on it. Slipping it back into his pocket he continued on his way, though his mind more on the surroundings then in thoughts. Who knew when the crazy driver might come back anyway?

George finally reached the house. It served three main functions, home, hideout, and base of operations. Sighing he walked up the creaking stairs, and knocked on the rotting door. The door opened with a loud squeak. George winced a bit. "Yes Monsieur?" A familiar raspy voice asked him.

George sighed. "Quit the games and let me in Raspy." The man sighed and opened the door. "It's Rastarde!" He said indigently.  
"Whatever..." George gave the man a hug. "Mission successful."  
Rastarde gave a rare grin. "Ah yes, what was that your twentieth mission?" He asked  
"And twenty first. Three million yen in the bag..." George grinned. Rastarde's jaw dropped.  
"You mean...?"  
"It was a double cross. I gave them the files, the other side paid me to bump them off. They even bought my bull about the loyalty to the job." George gave the quick story. "Where's Seiichi?" He questioned, grabbing an apple.

Rastarde shrugged. "I don't know and don't care. If he's dead, bigger shares for us." George sighed with frustration. Even if they had been partners in capturing him and giving him his first job, they still had a hate-hate relationship.  
"Whatever Raspy." George commented. "Anyway, tell him that two more jobs and we have enough."

Rastarde nodded. "Aye sir." He said mock respect imbued deep into his voice. George ignored him and walked off. "It's Rastarde..." The man muttered. He hated being called Raspy, just hated it. With this George laughed, something's just never will change. George walked to the kitchen, planning on grabbing some food to eat. There he turned on the Television, watching the news. Explosion... blah blah blah... He ignored everything. Nothing good was on. Nor did anyone need their help. See, even mercenaries did acts of good every now and then. With that George flopped on his bed, pulling out the smokes once more.

He lit them then slowly puffed away. Faint clouds circled his head, as he felt the cancer build in his throat and lungs. He knew it would kill him in the end. He also knew that he didn't care. George thought back to something one of his many teachers told him. _'It is better to die by something you knew you could have beat, but didn't, then by something that you don't know if you can beat it or not.'_

Charming man. Died the next year with a knife in his back and the holder had chased George across two continents to find him. George, of course, had survived that incident. However it still rattled him. No one before had devoted so much energy to catch him. The man was ruthless, cunning, and deadly. Not one that George would wish to be an enemy of. So George had turned himself into the Russian police. The right and wrong decision. George spent two years in there; a work camp, one where he was abused, beaten, tortured. All for information that he once, but no longer, had. He lost all of his contacts, forced to make new ones. He was once known around the underworld as the best. Two years in prison changed things though. He was now a has been. One of the old order, the order of assassins and thieves that ruled the underworld until the end of the Cold War. George grinned at the irony of that; he was ten when the war ended and only 19 now. But two had seen potential in him. Rastarde and Seichii. Those two had revived his career, and to them, he owed many thanks. So now he was known again. Feared, and hated by many. Even the two that mattered most to him.

George shook his head, promising himself not to think of those two again. Dasha and David were as good as dead to him. With that final thought he put out his cigar. Opening the newspaper, he looked through the private ads. So no one had bought that house in Kashima yet had they? Nope, George thought happily. Maybe no one would ever buy it. He had toured that house many times, and knew it like the back of his hand. Standing at a modest height, the building had an aura about it. George instantly knew he had to buy it. Though if his lucked stayed steady, he would be handing the money to the realtor when someone else would buy it for a price he couldn't afford.

With this cheery thought George set up the table for a lonely dinner. Seichii was out, probably visiting some women friend, and Rastarde was doing 'research'. George took one look at what was in the refrigerator and then quickly moaned. It was glaring white with clean racks. George straightened up, dusting his shirt off. Seems like someone forgot to go shopping recently. Of course, no one would admit to it. Thus George was going to have to eat take out again.

George quickly threw on a coat and grabbed his keys. There was this little restaurant he had wanted to go to Kangawa. Well he thought it was a restaurant. Not really sure. Of course, that wouldn't prevent him from visiting. A nice way to wind down really. With this thought implanted in his mind, George once more was on the move. This time for relaxation.

**END PROLOGUE**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

George stepped into the tea house. "Wait just a moment!" A women's voice cried out from another room. He nodded, though no one else was there, and sat down in a chair that looked comfortable. He closed his eyes, tired from the day's events. He slowly drifted off, the last thing he remembered was the fact that his body was slipping from the chair onto the ground. With this last thought he slipped into unconsciousness.

George's eyes suddenly flashed open. He had been out for a while now, since it was dark outside. As he got up, a wet cloth that had been on his forehead slipped off. He hadn't noticed it when he had woken up. He then slowly scanned the room he was laying in. Near the damp scuffed couch he was on, was a bowl of water, and to the side of that were newly cleaned cloths, obviously for his head. He then slowly touched his forehead, and quickly withdrew. Either his hand or his head was boiling hot. Either way it would be wise to relax until someone else arrived. George laid his head back onto the couch, and started into the ceiling. He would want to meet the person who took such good care of him.

Unfortunately it seemed that the person, so involved into other things, had left George alone for the next few hours. So all George could do was wait and wait some more. George then looked next to him. A book lay there, and without hesitation, he picked it up

Russia, China, Japan. They all fell right in front of my eyes. Nations that had stood proud for a thousand years, all of them dead and I couldn't do anything about it. That was cruelty that was horror. People I called friends, those I loved. No more. And with this I pull the trigger.

The story ended that way, bringing tears to George's eyes. So that was the author's prediction of the future? Or was it truly just a story to entertain others? George took in a breath. With this George lay the book down, and sighed again looking at the ceiling. Something was different this time, something had changed. A shadow, an unexpected, unnecessary shadow. Someone else was here. Damn, his skills were obviously fading, even at the young age. Or maybe this person didn't register on his threat scale. Either way, if this person had wanted him dead, he would be. He then turned to face the person sitting to his right.

The person sitting next to him was the least threatening person he could have imagined. Petite, small, skinny, a blush on her face, she couldn't have been older then thirteen. George felt bad for even expecting anything from her, though he probably was dangerous at her age. He smiled a tad bit, and waited for her to speak. "Ano… are you feeling better?" She asked. "You fainted earlier in the front… that's why we brought you back here." She said, blushing furiously, stuttering a tiny bit. Obviously this little girl was shy; however George was wondering whether or not to mess with her. However her honest face and peaceful attitude prevented him from doing this. Yet in his mind, he instantly compared her to his first job in Japan. They were so similar. The body shape, hair. However, they weren't all the same. The other girl showed no fear when George finally woke her up, and sent her to his employers, she only showed resignation. He often wondered what had happened to her. In this girls eyes though, he saw a determination that was riddled with something. She would never have given up.

George smiled slightly. "Ah yes, thank you." He said. "I probably just have a little cold." He reassured. "Anyway I'm really sorry for taking up your time. I should leave as to avoid this from happening much longer." George got up despite the girls protests, however he found his body weak, his legs shaking, forcing himself to sit down again. "Guess not." He said, shaking his head. "Well I guess that means we have enough time for a chat then." He leaned back onto the couch. "First thing first, what's your name?" He asked her.

"Maehara Shinobu." Shinobu answered.

"George Freeman." George responded, reaching out to shake her hand. She just stared at this greeting strangely. George then cursed his western upbringing. Of course, the traditional Japanese way of doing it would be a bow. He tried to place her confusion in words, but she asked first.

"Freeman-San, what is that gesture mean?" Another difference between their cultures, though this was odd, he thought, most people would recognize the Western way of doing things.

"It's a Western greeting to mean hello." George told her. "Also it's George, not Freeman."

"Ah…" The girl smiled a bit. "Does that mean you are from Europe? Or America?" She asked excitedly. She hadn't seemed to meet someone from that area. George decided to humor her for a while.

"Wales to be precise." He said.

"Really?" She asked excitedly, "Ah…. Where's that?" She asked, tilting her head a bit. George sighed. This one, she really didn't seem to know much about the world. George then smiled; this might be his chance to do someone good for a while. For the next thirty minutes he discussed where he was from and where he had been with Shinobu. He left out some of the parts, such as the time in Russia and his wanted status in Chyone. No need to ruin the kid's image of him yet.

"… That is really fascinating." Shinobu said, however George got the feeling he had lost her a while ago, and she was only saying this to remain polite. No matter. George hadn't felt like this for a long time now. It was a pleasant warm feeling. A distraction from the rest of his life, even if it was for a few hours at most. George then looked at his watch. Probably he should head home soon. Not yet though, not just yet. He still hadn't eaten. With this he turned his attention to getting some food.

"Yes, well I'm sorry if I bored you, however I do have a question?"

"What is it?"

"Do you have food here?"

"Why…. Ano…. Of course we do. What do you want?"

"Tea and anything edible."

Shinbu smiled. "One edible thing and tea coming right up!" She said excitedly hurrying out of the room. George got off the couch. Much better this time around. He entered the main room where he had fainted earlier. There sat two women deep in conversation. Both with short hair, however one seemed to be much younger. She had a lighter color hair, and seemed to be drunk. The other women was smoking a cigarette. George walked over to both of them.

"Ah….. sleeping beauty is awake." The younger one said, slurring her words.

"Now now Kitsune…" The older one warned. "I'm Urashima Haruka, and this is Konno Mitsune, more commonly known as Kitsune." She said. "I really am sorry what happened to you. Are you feeling better?" She asked.

George nodded. "Yes thank you. Ah, I'm George Freeman, however I use a western….." Haruka cut him off.

"Yes I know. Shinobu told me. Anyway, I would have known, names are quite unique here, and your complexion gives away your foreign heritage." George smiled at that.

"Well thanks for that." He said. "I'm sorry if I caused any trouble." He said, giving a little bow. Haruka just waved her hand and shook her head.

"Nah, it was no problem. Our concern here is if you are okay." She told him, smiling. Kitsune then started to speak also.

"Well, sugar, you really are cute when your asleep you know that?" She asked winking suggestively. George decided to ignore that part.

"I would like to thank you for all your help. There has to be some way to pay you back…" George said. Kitsune grinned.

"Well there is….." She was cut off by Haruka punching her, knocking her out.

"The only way to help would be for you to come here as long as our service is good." Haruka said, making it clear she was the boss around here. George nodded.

"I'll be sure to do that." George said smiling a large grin on his face. He was starting to like this group of people. They were a cheerful bunch. "But for now, I think I'll just start off with the tea and food that Shinobu-san is bringing." George said, sitting down, resting. It wasn't long before Shinobu brought the food into the area, smiling the whole way.

"Sorry that it took so long" She said in a cheery mood.

"Don't worry about it…" George said taking a bite. "Excellent. My compliments to the cook." He said with a smile. Shinobu blushed at this.

"Right I'll go off and tell the cook you said that!" She said running off. George wore a bemused look on his face to this response.

"She cooked it didn't she?" George asked Haruka.

"Yes. However she's just shy right now, she'll be better when she gets to know you better." George smiled, and then resumed eating in silence. The atmosphere became awkward, especially with a drunk and passed out Kitsune lying on the ground. Haruka got up, muttering about having to do some cleaning. George polished off the food, not leaving one bite left. He sighed in content, not having such a good meal for a long time. Kitsune was rolling around, mentioning on how she was cold. How she was George couldn't tell, as the warm summer air was rolling through the house, boiling the sweat that fell off of George's face. He sighed watching her, it was really disturbing him. Finally tired of her antics he rolled her over on her side, or tried to. Misjudging the placement of his hands, he accidentally placed them on her large breasts. He would have sworn that he had the placement of his hands just right. Alas at the last moment she had turned over, 'coincidentally' placing her breasts just where he was placing his hands. Kitsune instantly woke up and after giving a little shout that could have been interpreted as in joy, she grinned.

"I didn't know you liked that George-Kun." She said. "Yet remember that you should ask the women first. Not that I mind…" She told him, winking a bit. She then started to remove pieces of her clothing, embarrassing George greatly "Now then…. Just let Kitsune Onee-Chan take con….." At this point another person burst into the room. Tall, graceful, and with shining black hair, she had a sword in her hand.

"Who is this?" She asked, then without getting an answer, she swung his sword. "And what are you doing to Kitsune-san?" She slashed her sword again. This pierced George's leg. He screamed in agony, no blood coming out of his wound; however it was clear that the muscles in that region would be completely destroyed for the time being. She placed her sword at his neck then turned to Kitsune, as if waiting for her to pass judgement.

Kitsune was crying in hysterics. George thought that maybe she was sad because of what the crazy kendo girl did to him. Unfortunately he really didn't know Kitsune. "That… ba….. bastard!" She said through her tears. George was actually impressed by her acting skills. If it wasn't his life on the line right here, he would have been enthralled. "He….. pus….. pushed me down, then he tries to take off my clot….. clothes." She said, backing away. George knew he was in a tough spot. And if he didn't do anything, he would be in a six by seven by three spot.

"That is…" George tried to protest, however Motoko cut his words off.

"Silence, we see your true nature after all…." George was lost, they hadn't seen him any other way at all, let alone his good side, so it confused him what Motoko meant. In any case, he let her continue anyway, more due to the sword she held. "And thus we shall punish you accordingly!" She placed her sword at his hair. "WITH MY PUNISHMENT FROM HELL!" She shouted, scaring George into submission. This was going to kill him, if he didn't die before then. Oh boy…. This wasn't going well at all. George needed a quick escape, and fast too. He then heard the door slam behind him. He couldn't see who it was, but the room grew a whole lot hotter, as if someone was steaming. He slowly turned to see who it was.

In front of him stood a red head girl, who managed to squeeze out only one sentence. "GO TO HELL!" She screamed before punching George into the ceiling. George hit it hard, then with no energy left, and getting beat up (and not immortal like Keitaro) he blacked out, once more fainted on the ground in the tea house.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2

George slowly opened his eyes. This had to be heaven. There was no doubt about it. No one could survive such a punch. Who the hell were those people anyway? He felt hot, real hot. Maybe this was hell? George would have shrugged if he could move. Didn't matter in his book. His eyes finally responded to his command. There stood one of his two tormentors. Definitely Hell. It was the tall Samurai women. Black hair. Very pretty, though the stern look on her face seemed to be a contrast to everything else. He smiled. "So this is hell eh? Meeting my killers face to face?" The girl shook her head, not even changing that stern look she had.

"No. Unfortunately you didn't die. Your reflexes though were too good. I merely intended to use the back of my sword, killing others isn't the Shinmeiryuu style. However you twisted quickly, forcing the sharp end of my blade through your tendons, killing any chance of your leg from healing any time soon. Very commendable actually. If you weren't a two timing pervert that is…." George was floored by this statement. Even though she had the killing intent flow from her earlier, she wasn't going to kill him. The confusion must have showed on his face, for she answered his question before he asked it. "I must protect the likes of Shinobu from perverts like you and Keitaro….." She said, glancing menacingly at George. "However, killing is still not accepted in the dojo I attend…." She trailed off, looking at George again. George, though he didn't know Keitaro, felt sorry for him. To know such a violent girl. George wouldn't be surprised if he feared her as much as George feared her, even if George was a trained killer and all. Her style of Swordman….. or should he say Swordwomenship was familiar to him. A naturally killer to assassin types as himself. They could split any bullet he shot in half. Or so the rumors said. Not as bad as Dasha though. Russians… he wouldn't be surprised if they would be the death of him one day.

"Shinmeiryuu? Is that the secret kendo style taught to those worthy of the path of the blade?" George asked innocently. The women looked shocked, as if he had guessed her name. In this silence he pushed onwards with the questioning. "Headed by the formidable Aoyama clan? Capable of defeating demons and monsters?" He asked. "I see. If you had wanted me dead, I would be." The girl pointed her finger at him.

"How…. How did you know?" She asked, half defensively. George just smiled.

"It's my job to know." He answered, not really wanting to tell more than that. "Though if you must know, your reputation precedes you. George Freeman by the way…. If you don't mind." He said, feeling it right to give his name, giving a little bow of his head.

"Aoyama Motoko…." Motoko answered quickly, not thinking much of the scenario, and then realized her mistake. George of course jumped on it.

"Aoyama-Sama, eh? Could you possibly be…..? No, it can't be. Not someone like you….. Though again, I guess that the Aoyama's are known for their special traits. How old are you?" He asked her, wondering.

"18." She stated quickly. George nodded. A bit younger then he thought, but that was probably the stern look on her face.

"You really need to drop the stern look off your face." He told her. "Really doesn't suit you, does it?"  
"Why you little….." Motoko lost her composure for a moment before returning. "Who are you to say what does and doesn't fit me?" She demanded of him.

George shrugged. "No one in particular I guess. I just know your type." He commented. "A lone warrior, trying to protect everything they hold dear. A stern look doesn't fit that style. It is best to smile and show confidence. What is reflecting in your eyes is doubt. That, Aoyama Motoko, is the death of all great swords woman." He finished his monologue.

Motoko stared at him intently. "How would you know? What I stand for?"  
George again smiled. "You gave it away. You told me that you would attack me for the sake of Shinobu-San. This is meaningless, as most people would say the same thing about their friends or family, which I assume she is of the former, since I cannot see the resemblance of you two. However in this case you call me a pervert, and as such you view me as a threat. So, by your securitizing of me as a threat, I assume that you are the sort of person who would defend their friends, even if it meant the end of their lives. Is that not true?" George explained his logic, even though he had made it up. He was really just good at reading people.

Motoko frowned. "What makes you so cocky?" She asked him, and really for the first time inspecting him. She abruptly got up. "I came in here to apologize for your leg…. However, I highly doubt you deserve such a reward. I couldn't care less about you." She stormed out the room, slamming the door violently. George smiled. "I guess I rattled her David…" He said to the nonexistent wolf. George didn't seem to mind though. He had made that mistake too many times to care at this point. He then got up, walking to the window. George sighed sadly. He turned his thoughts to Burma, and his mind wandered onto Salazar and Emil. How were they doing? They got fucking screwed then. He hoped that none of them blamed each other. He used to... but that was two years ago. Almost. He stopped caring. He realized it was Chyone who screwed him, not his allies. Three units fucking killed. Three of Dammit… why were they there anyway*? He cursed himself. It was only One year ago the mission went wrong. The whole thing was fucked up from the beginning. As much information as he knew, he still didn't know the whole story. Only Emil would have a chance to know it. However Emil was fired, and now was impossible to trace down. There was one more person….. he didn't like to think about it, but there still was on more person. Maybe that person would give him the answers. The door then proceeded to open slowly. With that, George turned to the door, awaiting whoever would enter.

* Here's the back story: Before meeting Dasha and David, George was approached for a job offer by a Polish Company named Ycheno. George instantly took the job. He quickly rose in the company, one year later, he was VP of their agricultural business. There were only two men he reported too. Salazar Chernoff, (27) a Russian, and Emil Durr, (56) a German. The three of them were introduced into the real business that the company did. Arms trade. Their cover company was Ycheno, which sold agricultural and mining products for cheap prices all around the world. It was 'Humanitarian work'. However, the main funding was a company that had been created after the Cold War, in order to safe guard Eastern European interests. The countries involved were Poland, Ukraine, Moldova, Bulgaria, Hungary, Belarus and Slovakia. They distrusted the Russians, viewing them as oppressors. Their opinion of the west was the same. So, they created a military organization known as Chyone. Their goal, to combat the threats posed to Eastern European nations. This was the project that George, Emil, and Salazar were brought into. They quickly became its stars. George was the executer, the man on the ground watching the missions. He became proficient with weaponry. Salazar was the quick thinker, making commands on the fly. Emil was the desk man, working his way through papers and keeping people of their back of missions they did. George, at 18, was the youngest Lt. Commander in Chyone History. Salazar was a General, and Emil was CINC Far East, which was where George and Salazar worked. However, all the shit exploded in their face during one mission.  
Burma:  
George was ordered to take out a terrorist, who was planning an attack on a nuclear power plant in Hungary, at a tiny village on the coast. Once there though, it was obvious that there was no terrorist. George was ordered to go in and kill any resistors. Doubtful, though not hearing the full story, George went in there. Salazar was being briefed though on the true mission. The town was harboring a defector, one who would threaten to bring down Chyone. The idea was that you had to kill him. To make a long story short, George was shot in the arm, and disappeared. From there he would move to Russia, and thus brings us to the beginnings of the stories. By this time he had already picked up David and Dasha. Salazar refused to make any more orders on the battlefield. His anger quickly led to the death of three units, the worst disaster in Chyone Military History. After the mission, Salazar quit, starting his own firm, which competes with Chyone, and is prepared to become Russian President. Emil was fired for the screw up operation. George has blamed Salazar for not giving him orders, Salazar blames Emil for keeping him in the dark; despite the fact Emil didn't know the story to its fullest extent. Emil is now living in Germany, a desk worker once more. He plans to gather the three of them together in order to take revenge... though George, now 20, and Salazar 30, don't care to take any revenge, George living his life in Japan, and Salazar raising a family, while planning on making Russia a superpower once more.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3

George watched the door as it opened slowly. Who was it? Was it the red head to get more revenge? Or was it the drunken girl, planning to screw his life a bit more. However, another girl walked in, not one he had met before. He smiled, trying to be as friendly as possible. "Hello." He asked his Japanese riddled with a Russian accent that he had acquired over the years, a slight blush on his face. He had perfected on how to talk to people over the years of loneliness. Well, more like how to pick up a date. The girl giggled, and then turned her head smiling. She was about…. seventeen years old, George would guess.

"Why, hello there… you work here?" She asked, her accent suggesting a Tokyo accent. George cursed himself. He had spent too long analyzing people, and not enough time trying to just let things happen. He shook his head in response to her question.

"No. Just visiting." He informed her. "Though I might stay longer with cute girls like you around." He complimented her, to which she blushed heavily.

"Oh. I don't think my girl friend will like that." She said. George released a sigh.

"Well was worth a try." He said. He now took a chance to examine her features. She was surprising tall for a Japanese women. Short red hair, wearing a school uniform, George knew she was too young for him. He smiled at her anyway. There was one thing that he had noticed though. "Still, can I have your name?" He asked her, smiling.

"Osaragi Hazumu." She said, extending her hand. "May I have yours?" She asked.

"George Freeman." He replied, taking her hand and shaking it. There it was. Her use of the Japanese language: her usage of the masculine I, instead of the feminine I. There. Not that it mattered, it was just that George noticed things like that. She then resumed talking; George snapped out of his thoughts and listened.

"So George-San what brings you here?" She asked him. George shrugged. "Same as you I guess. Just shopping around, looking for something to eat. You're not from around here are you?" He asked her changing topics. She glanced at him.

"Well no. I'm from the Kashima ward." She said. "It's nearby here, but not exactly from here, no." George did a little mind check. Both areas were considered part of the Greater Tokyo area; however they did not touch on a map. George nodded.

"Well, it's obvious that you're not from around here either are you?" She asked him, smiling. George smiled.

"No. I'd come from Wales you'd say. However I have traveled around most of the world. Russia, Sahara, France, Spain, Germany, Poland, America, Australia, China, India, MolMol, Congo, South Africa, Brazil." He listed off all the countries he could remember visiting. He bet there were more, just most of them in the middle of the night. Hazumu gasped, seemingly impressed. "You've been to all those places!" She asked looking at him with sparkling eyes. "What was it like? Did you meet interesting people?" She asked him. George was a bit overwhelmed by these questions. He thought.

"Wel … well, I guess that I'd have to think about all… all of these questions." He stuttered a bit. However, Hazumu wouldn't stop talking, so she ignored his answer.

"I bet Ayuki-chan would love to hear your tales…. Oh and Professor Sora, and…" George finally raised his hand to get her to stop talking.

"How about you bring them all here some other time, and I'll talk to them, okay?" He asked her. She nodded eagerly. Hazamu looked outside.

"Oh….. my friend is waiting for me… uh do you know where I can find someone who works around here?" He shrugged.

"Well, do you want crazy or no…." He felt a familiar feeling against his throat. "I see Aoyama-san can probably take care of your needs." He told Hazamu as he pushed the sword away. Hazamu proceeded to barge Motoko with a thousand questions or so. The poor girl didn't even have a chance to respond to George's barb. Not that she would have wanted to, that would have just fueled George's insanity more. He smiled at Hazamu's young enthusiasm. This was his cue to leave. With not another word spoken by the young man, he slipped out into the day, looking odd, and barely missing another group who entered the store. A fairly large Russian women and a seemingly larger dog that stood menacingly by his mistresses' side. The closest the two groups had been for over a year. However, George and Dasha knew not of the other's appearance, though David might have (that part is questionable.) However, it would not be the last time the red string of fate twined its tale around one man, teasing and forcing him along the path he had to take. As was fate's will and fate is much stronger than all the other forces in the universe. That much was known to man.

(You probably aren't here to hear me sprout philosophy, so I will return to the story, ending my breaking of the holy fourth wall)

George, blissfully unaware of the author, was outside walking. He had filched a packet of smokes from the store while he was there. Lucky for him. He lit one and stared to the stars. Tonight, he had no job, an empty home, and was depressed. He had nowhere to go. Most of all, he was lonely. Pangs of promises long ago stung his heart, forcing pain upon him. Where were the streets of Moscow, where he had stood in defiance of the new government? Where were the beaches of Burma where he had stood in front of the burning village? Where were the lights of Washington where he had stood on the steps of the Capitol, berating the failures they had endured? Where were the fields of Poland where he had first been introduced to the men and women who would change his life? Where where where? Twenty years old, and already on the decline, George knew himself to be burned out. So that's why he didn't care. Hell, no one would care if he just placed a bullet in his forehead. Why would they? He was a nuisance to the world, a murderer. He would be doing them all a favor.

However, why should he care for them? They were the ones who damned and ostracized him from society! They created him, the pressure, and the war. His brother on the throne, he on the streets his life over. So by damn, he would prove the world wrong. He would prove he could arise of the problems thrown in his face. He would laugh at them; prove to them that he was worth something.

This, he all decided while staring at the infinity of the void of space. Yet one point of light, a small vibration of noise, snapped him from his delusional ravings. A scream, just one tiny scream from a voice. The voice of long ago. A women's voice, crying for help. George stood there frozen. He recognized that voice. The voice of the only person who cared for him in the whole damn world. She had only screamed once like that before, when she had seen him blooded and battered. Caroline, sweet Caroline. His sister. Not of blood, but of sweat and friendship. She was the only person who would house him in those long days of Germany. If there was one person he owed anything to, it was her.

He knew he had to help. Family was family. He ran, ignoring people who walked by, ignoring all those who stared at the strange man, half-mad running across the street running to an unknown location. He knew not the lay of the land; however he reacted on the basic primeval instinct that just knew. It knew where she was. It knew that she had to be reached as soon as possible. George ran, blowing by stores and cars stuck in standstill. However, even as he ran, a chill gathered in his bones, expecting the worst. Why was she in Japan anyway? Could it be…. Yes. Her boyfriend of the time was Japanese, and he had wanted to go back to Japan and live there with her. That was why she was here. Small world after all. The irony, the irony.

George finally, his face covered in sweat and dirt found her. Yet, he instantly knew what was wrong. There stood a boy. Small, pale, a defiant look on his face. He couldn't have been older than fourteen. The way Caroline looked at him, appeared motherly. Either the child was her brother, (unlikely) or her son from her marriage. George assumed the second one. He didn't know she had a son that early on. She was only twenty eight now. He shook his head, that's why she was so unwilling to talk about her past. He took after his mother, not his father. Which relieved George; to his irking, seeing how he had always had a thing for Caroline. He cursed that love, to a women he considered a friend beyond value. Luckily, they had moved on (leaving him bitter about himself and her… well that's a spoiler). The boy stood there seemingly challenging others to attack. And there were plenty of others to accept. Larger boys, twice the child's size, armed with knives and clubs stood there, surrounding the boy. Caroline had tried to break their circle, and had gotten the worse of the deal, a slash across her arm. Non life threatening. George scowled though, he would play hero today. Since…. He had once made a promise to protect her. This would go a long way to helping him redeem himself, not in God's eyes, or other man's but his own. He needed no words, no other reason to act. He just needed to do. So do he did.

George charged the knife wielding kid nearest to him, taking him out, and then dodged a punch from a particularly nasty looking goon. George took him out with a right cross. One other moved forward to attack, but soon felt a cold metal hitting against his neck.

"Well Freeman-san, I didn't know you liked looking for trouble." Said a familiar voice of a female warrior. "I followed you to get revenge on that packet of cigarettes you stole."  
"Well Aoyama-san, I guess if trouble is protecting others, than I always like looking for trouble." George responded to Motoko, smiling. "Though I'm not sure I would have survived this well without those smokes…." The other goons had run off, leaving the child, Caroline, and the two bantering fools in the area. "You check on the kid, I'll check on C….. the women." Without letting Motoko protest, he ran over to Caroline, kneeling down. "C-line?" He asked her, using his nick-name for her.

"George?" She asked surprised, then smiled. "Well only you would be stupid enough to charge into a fight with no backup, heavily out matched, and be able to pull it off." She reached up to touch his face. "It isn't a dream." She nodded. "I thought it was a nightmare, and then you showed up. You saved my boy…. You saved Emil." George looked at her and then opened his mouth, about to question her; however she stuck her hand on his mouth. "Shhhh….. Please, no reminiscing, we can do that later." She told George, "When I'm better." Caroline assured him, and then threw up blood on George's shirt. George looked at her worried, his eyes blurred with tears wondering what was wrong. Then saw the problem. She hadn't only gotten slashed across the arm, but stabbed in the stomach. It was a brutal wound, and unless an ambulance got there quick, she was a goner. George shot a glare at Motoko, who seemed to get it. She ran over to the phone. "Who's the kid?" He asked, whispering into her ear, trying to distract himself from the wound.

"My son." She answered, though it was obvious already. George didn't push for an answer, only wanting distraction for now from the pains. George leaned down. "Where's your…." She predicted the next question and responded.

"He left. He found out a secret of mine, and beat me. Then he left." George nodded slowly. Caroline then smiled softly. "George… I have something to tell you. Emil is not my only son…. I have another, named Paul." She whispered. "After his grandfather." She told George,

"Grandfather….. but, Seech's father was named Miki, and your's was Martin. In fact…. Oh my god." George came to realization. "He's…. he's….. he's…. oh my god." George shook his head. "When did it happen? I don't remember….."  
"It was the night you were drunk and came home. You admitted everything to me, and then you kissed me tenderly. We slept together that night." Caroline admitted to George, who was pale, continuing to mutter oh my god.  
"So… your other son is mine…?" He asked Caroline, who nodded then coughed again.

"Yours fully. I didn't have sex with anyone else during that time period. You're the only one it could have been. Please take care of my two boys…." Caroline pleaded. She closed her eyes, her breathing getting raspy, and more irradic.

"Shit… Shit Shit SHIT!" George yelled, kissing her mouth, trying cpr. "I didn't just find out all of this just for you to die!" He screamed, and hit the ground, continuing to curse. No one else had heard the conversation, which was good. Good, yet he was making a scene. The next minutes went by with a blur, the ambulance coming, the medics taking her in. Motoko and Emil went with Caroline to the hospital. George just stayed there, leaned over looking at the ground. Frustration and anger boiled up inside him, he didn't know where to go or what to do. He should find a place to sleep, or walk around, catch a movie go to strip club, do something! Instead, he slammed his hand into the ground as hard as he could. It stung like hell, yet he repeated the action, until his knuckles were red. His eyes were red, and he staggered up like a boxer who had one too many hits to the head. He punched the wall. His skin caught on a rough edge of a brick, tearing it open. Blood flowed out, and George in his infinite wisdom, punched the wall again. And again, and again. He punched it until his whole hand was filled with blood, and he slowly was bleeding to death. He didn't care though, as he kicked anything nearby. "Why? Why? Why? Why couldn't she have told me this earlier? Why?" He asked himself, furious at the one person responsible, the man who separated them. How could he not tell? She had acted strangely to him after that event. He had placed it down to the alcohol that she so bitterly despised. Yet it was the act in it. The fact they had been together. His closest friend, in one act of drunkenness. He kicked the wall, shattering his toe bones. He stopped, looking like he had been chewed up and spat from hell. Blood flowed, forming a pool under him. And, finally, when reunited with the one he loved, she had gone and got stabbed, and was probably dead! George swore, staggering off. He had some places to go, the only way he knew how to drown out the pain he felt. Too many times he had comrades die in his arms, too many times had death passed over his eyes. There was only one way to forget, to forgive oneself, to prevent the questions that haunt one at night. He still had one he could never forget, that still plagued his dreams, yet he needed to keep that memory. It was what drove him forward. However, all other deaths were too much, so he planned to drown it out. Nothing would stop him at this task. He scanned the surrounding area, and found what he was looking for. Moving forward, he wobbled into the area. It was called Kentaro's bar. George grinned. The perfect solution. The only way to deal with pain. George fell through the doors, using anything else to support his weight as he went over to the bartender. "One beer, here's my id, and I pay you at the end." George said, ignoring all the stares, his accent slurred with sobs and irregularities. The bartender raised one of her eyebrows at him. Yet she didn't protest, instead she got him a beer. George drank one, sipping down the sour and sweet nectar that mirrored his life. The sour of his loss, the sweet of the reunion. That much he understood, George decided as he ordered a second beer.


End file.
